


this is the terminal

by lambicpentametre



Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambicpentametre/pseuds/lambicpentametre
Summary: Eighteen years after they finish at Cutlers, Posner flies across the Atlantic to visit an old friend in New York City.





	this is the terminal

_This is the terminal: the light  
_ _Gives perfect vision, false and hard;_

David Posner took a deep breath before boarding his early morning flight to New York City. He didn’t really know what inspired him to come to America, but he knew that he needed to go. He had only a small suitcase and a satchel with him to last him the duration of his trip, but at thirty-six, he’s had worse ideas.

 _The metal glitters, deep and bright._  
_Great planes are waiting in the yardー  
_ _They are already in the night._

The lights from the wings of the plane stand out among the inky darkness of the morning. He wondered if this is what _he_ felt like when he boarded his plane to New York, but pushed that thought out of his mind. The black unknown ahead of him probably terrified him more than it terrified _him_ , and rationally Posner is aware that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but that doesn’t stop him one bit.

 _And you are here beside me, small,_  
_Contained and fragile, and intent  
_ _On things that I but half recallー_

Posner doesn’t think that anyone really remembers what happened a year ago, at least not in New York. He can think of three people off the top of his head whose lives were irrevocably changed that day. It was almost unremarkable, but not quite there. He’s scared, but not as naive as he once was. That’s progress in itself.

 _Yet going whither you are bent.  
_ _I am the past, and that is all._

He’s determined to make it through, though. Periodic breakdowns aside, he can do this. It’s just a trip to New York by himself, and he is perfectly capable of flying on his own, contrary to what others might think. The person he was when he could hardly get out of bed is not the person he is now, and he owed it to himself and to _him_ to get through this. 

 _But you and I in part are one:_  
_The frightened brain, the nervous will,  
_ _The knowledge of what must be done,_

He started writing when the plane took off, words that he hadn’t thought of in over fifteen years when he was but a boy and written words were just a game, not the last method of conveying his feelings before it inevitably crashed and failed. He’s not as desperate as he was, he’s not as nervous as he was, and he’s stronger now. He can accomplish this task.

 _The passion to acquire the skill  
_ _To face what you dare not shun._

By the time the plane lands, Posner has pages upon pages full of words and confessions, half-remembered poems and snippets of psalms. He struggled to seal them into the envelope he brought with him, a neatly scripted name written across the front.

 _The rain of matter upon sense_  
_Destroys me momently. The score:_  
_There comes what will come. The expense  
_ _Is what one thought, and something moreー_

 _This is completely insane,_ he told himself as he disembarks the plane. _This is a mad idea,_ he told himself as he dodged past the kind old woman he sat next to, as the tears began pooling in his eyes. He is acutely conscious that there’s no reason for the tears, life happens and that’s the way things are. There was nothing he could have done, nothing anyone could’ve done. _Turn back now,_ he told himself as he dictated an address to the cabbie outside of the airport.

 _One’s being and intelligence_.

And then he gets it. He won’t make it through this trip if he tried to stay clinical and distant; he’ll only make it if he screams and rages against the world. In the mid-morning sun, David Posner disembarked from his cab with nothing but a thick letter in his hand and a satchel on his back. He tried to keep all of his emotions within the stuffed envelope, but he failed.

So instead, through his tears, he stepped closer to the monument in front of him, speaking words half-forgotten over time.

“‘I really meant to do it. I stood there right on the edge,’” he said, approaching the engraved pillar. “‘But I couldn’t I wasn’t brave enough. I would like to be able to say it was the thought of you that prevented me but it wasn’t.

“‘I had no thoughts at all. Only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything at all ever again. Not to be unhappy any more.’” He stood in front of the pillar, placing his hand on the side.

“Come on, Scripps, this is where you come in,” he urged softly, tracing his fingers over Scripps’ name.

He knelt before the pillar, reading the inscription at the top. _Flight 506 to JFK entered an unexpected thunderstorm off the coast of Nova Scotia and went down over the Atlantic Ocean. Of the 483 passengers and crew on board, there were no survivors. Twenty-four were never recovered from the sea. Their names are forever immortalized here._

“‘You always help, dear,’” Posner whispered.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t talk more before you went off to America, and that I didn’t know you were going. None of us knew, really. We only know because Akthar rang your parents one day and asked about you, and your mother burst into tears. I didn’t tell anyone that I was coming, but I think Akthar knows.

“I’m sorry I never told you any of it before, but I’m here now, and I’d like to think that counts for something with you. I took a page out of your book and wrote it all down on the flight here, so I’ll just leave that here for you to have.” He placed the thick letter at the foot of the pillar.

“Come on, Scripps,” Posner said. “Just come back to us. Come back so we can take your name off of this stupid pillar. Tell us the story of how you survived, like Tom Hanks in that one movie. Just come back.” He fell silent for a moment, staring out across the river towards JFK International, at the runway that Scripps never made it to. 

 _This is the terminal, the break._  
_Beyond this point, on lines of air,  
_ _You take the way that you must take;_

“Well, I’ll finish it for you then,” he told the pillar. “‘You’ve been a long way away. Thank you for coming back to me.’” As he stood up, he pulled a folded-up photograph out of his pocket and placed it on top of the letter.

“Bye, Scrippsy,” Posner said as he waved at the photograph. “See you again soon.” 

 _And I remain in light and stareー  
_ _In light, and nothing else, awake._

Eight boys, young and vibrant, smiled back at him from the photograph, one of them Posner himself. Their eyes followed him as he went down the street, preserved in a moment of their lives with the world at their feet. The sunlight shined on them all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The poem is "At the San Francisco Airport" by Yvor Winters. This is dedicated to my wonderful pals at the History Boys Net, and to Alex, who helped me get this fic to where I wanted it to be. Written for the History Boys fictober, one new fic every week!


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